


One Week

by ZerosGirl01



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Fluff, M/M, They seriously won't stop, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 16:39:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3256958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZerosGirl01/pseuds/ZerosGirl01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been one week since I looked at you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Week

 “Signore Niccolò!”

Sweat dripped from the brow of Niccolò Machiavelli has he continued his training. He stood in a small courtyard littered with straw and bits of clay, swinging a hand-and-a-half sword about, hacking and slicing at the sparring dolls placed strategically about.

The voice had been calling at him for the last couple of minutes, but Niccolò was not easily distracted once he’d set his mind to a task. Instead of heeding the shrill call, he spun and sunk his hidden blade into the throat of the dummy to his left.

He turned and glared at the small boy standing at the courtyard’s entrance before sheathing his blade and sword. Hands free, he subconsciously reached up and ran them through his sweat dampened curls. They came away drenched and he wrinkled his nose and flicked the moisture to the ground as he approached the young lad.

“Signore Niccolò, I’ve come to fetch you.” He said once within polite conversation distance.

“I surmised as much,” he replied, trying in vain to keep the exasperation from his voice.

He ran a hand through his hair once more, not caring if the strands stuck straight into the air and sighed—he could practically hear the disappointment in the boy’s breathing, and he wasn’t one to dash the hopes of a lad quite so young. Perhaps a year or two older...

 The assassin stepped from the courtyard and began walking a familiar path away from the headquarters.

“Well, c’mon boy!” He shouted behind him when he heard no footsteps following, “You must make sure your task is completed correctly.”

The walk to the rundown building in the heart of Firenze was quiet, Niccolò stopped for neither vendor nor the panting boy following at his heels. He was anxious to get back inside where at least the sun would not be beating relentlessly and it had been a week since he had seen La Volpe, let alone _seen_ him. He knew that being in the same city and still not seeing each other for such a time period was practically catastrophic when involving the fox.

Firenze’s hum died down once they reached the thieves’ hideout and Niccolò expected to hear the rancorous bunch of tavern goers, despite the early hour, when he approached the door, but the building was quiet. He narrowed his eyes and glanced at his young escort to which he was given a nonchalant shrug and a slight widening of the eyes.

The boy knew but was unwilling to tell him. Machiavelli hmmed and opened the door.

Inside, the entrance was dark and there were no sounds coming from the down the hall where he knew the bar was set and stocked and always open for business. He moved about the room quietly, unconsciously avoiding disturbing the eerie silence.

The door behind him closed with a loud bang. He jumped straight into the air, turned around and released his hidden blade simultaneously. The young boy had slammed the door, without following him inside, and left Niccolò in the bleak darkness left behind.

His ears were tuned into every little sound and he stilled his breathing long enough to gather if he was actually alone in the room or not. He stood in silence and darkness, listening for any sound of life not originating from him.

It wasn’t long before he heard a small cough which grew louder and more violent and ended with a pathetic groan. A groan he recognized even when congested and sad.

Niccolò Machiavelli sheathed his blade and turned to where he knew the stairs to the basement level, and the individual rooms were housed. The trek down was a little dangerous as he didn’t quite know how many steps to expect before hitting the ground.

Down the main hall and then another just to the left. At the end of this second hallway was a door. One that Niccolò opened with no trouble.

“Aah, amore mio.”

The assassin rolled his eyes, letting the outside world fall prey to the subtle charm of La Volpe. He unclipped his belt and walked further into the room. His weapons fell to the floor with a harsh clatter followed quickly by the thumping of his armor.

He stood in front of his lover in only his tunic and smiled at the sniffling old fox.

“So this is where you’ve been, Gilberto.” He knelt on the side of the bed, relishing in the warmth given off by his lover. “I was beginning to think you had replaced me for the sniveling thing you sent as your delivery boy.”

“Niccolò,” Volpe purred before he sat up and doubled over coughing. Even in the darkness, Niccolò reached out and knew that Volpe’s hand was outstretched for him. Their hands clasped and the thief pulled him close, his body shaking slightly.

When he tried to speak again and was, again, interrupted by a coughing fit, Niccolò pushed him back onto the bed and stripped off his tunic, leaving him naked and bare. He reached down and pulled the sheet up over their bodies and lay his head just above his lover’s, nuzzling the damp curls.

“Shh, Gilberto. Get some rest.”

Volpe hummed, content as could be with the shakes and a fever, and situated himself even closer to his lover’s body.

XxXxXxXxXxX

No light filtered into the room, but Niccolò woke anyway. He was still intertwined with his lover’s warm body and he breathed deeply, all too content to drift back to sleep here.

He closed his eyes and slept for maybe minutes more before the man in his arms shifted and he yelped when he was flipped onto his back with a very wily Volpe sitting on his lap.

“Tesoro,” he moaned as he rocked his body against Niccolò’s, “I missed you.”

Machiavelli threw his head back as he cock was wrapped in the warm heat of his lover’s hands and coaxed to hardness.

“Jesus Christ, Volpe!”

He arched into the touch and grabbed at Volpe’s hips, moving his own in time with the thief’s rocking.

They moved together, the sound of their labored breathing and moving bodies filled the room. It had been so long—

“Gilberto, I’m close."

Volpe leaned down and kissed at his lover’s neck and whispered nonsense against his skin. Their speed increased and Niccolò shouted as he came. He floated in post-orgasm bliss and smiled when his lover collapse against his chest.

Their breathing matched and slowed as they came down and Volpe once his mental capacity returned.

It took everything Niccolò had to keep from smacking him upside his head.

“What is so funny, Gilberto?”

Volpe rolled them over and cuddled back into the nook under Machiavelli’s chin.

“I was just thinking what that sniveling thing is thinking outside my door at this moment.”

Niccolò felt his cheeks heat and he didn’t hold back his hand.

He shook his head and closed his eyes to the world once more, relishing in the warmth his lover’s laugh instilled in his chest.

**Author's Note:**

> They seriously wrote the sex scene... if you could call it that. I don't have the patience or the brain capacity to write a serious one, so I just it off as soon as it began really. Please don't hurt me!


End file.
